


You Got Lost While Getting Older

by kuragay



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing from trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21554413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragay/pseuds/kuragay
Summary: Peter stops aging in his early twenties, his altered biology from the spider bite catching up with him.Tony stops aging in his fifties, his brief stint with the infinity stones radically shifting something inside him.They have no way of realizing, though, that they've both been subjected to the same horror because Peter runs when he's thirty and doesn't look back for another 22 years. But they find each other, because they always do. Because a parent never stops looking for his kid.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 36
Kudos: 439





	You Got Lost While Getting Older

Tony doesn’t notice for decades. It would have been hard to, he thinks, because even in retrospect, it seems unbelievable, but now, sitting here by a hospital bed and holding Pepper’s hand, he can’t think of any other explanation.

Pepper is 92, Morgan’s in her forties, and Tony should be almost a hundred. And yet somehow, somehow…

Pepper squeezes his hand weakly, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. “I don’t know if somehow my vision is still rose-tinted after all this time, but you don’t look a day over fifty.”

Tony smiles in return, but beneath it is the brewing conflict. It’s been a mystery to the internet as to why Tony doesn’t seem to age. But it’s not so uncommon for celebrities to look younger than they are, so it may have been the internet’s joke for decades, but there’s been no further speculation.

Even Tony himself didn’t speculate much until the past few years. And now, with his heart still beating fiercely as Pepper’s dwindles, he realizes he doesn’t _feel_ a day over fifty either. He doesn’t have arthritis, and by all means, his heart should’ve given out two decades ago with all the shit he’s put it through. But he can still go on hikes with daughter and grand-children, can still sit on twenty-hour flights, and can still work the night away.

“And you don’t look a day over a hundred,” Tony says, kissing Pepper on the head as her eyes shut in a soft laugh.

“Morgy, come here,” Pepper whispers, and Morgan shuffles her chair closer, laying her head by Tony and Pepper’s hands. 

“Hey, momma.” 

“How are the kids, hmm?”

Morgan’s eyes water, and she sits up straighter to stroke a finger down Pepper’s cheeks. “They’re good, momma. Thinking of you, of course, and wishing you well.”

Pepper’s voice is only a croak when she says, “Tell them to make sure to eat enough fruits, with the flu season and all,” But Morgan still listens and nods, her smile quivering like the taut string on a bow.

“Of course.”

Then no one talks for a bit, the atmosphere dimming, and Pepper shifts just marginally, her eyes glancing at the door.

“Is he coming?” She rasps, and Tony can’t help but feel his eyes burn as he holds onto Pepper just a little tighter.

“I don’t know, Pep. I sent him a voicemail. I don’t know if he heard it.”

It’s been too long, maybe, to still feel this type of disappointment, but the years hadn’t dimmed Tony’s grief, and it seems it hasn’t dimmed Pepper’s either.

“When was the last time we saw him?” Pepper asks.

Tony shakes his head, and Morgan keeps her lips sealed, too. It’s been twenty-two years without a word, but he doesn’t want to upset Pepper.

“Do you think he’ll show up?” Pepper asks, her hand trembling as tony strokes it. “To say goodbye?” 

The hurt that Tony feels simmers into an old anger--a festering wound that never quite healed right, and he hisses, “He didn’t even show up for May.”

“Dad,” Morgan cuts in, sharp as a knife, and Tony immediately wants to take the words back.

But Pepper doesn’t seem upset. In fact, she’s much calmer than Tony, settling down in her bed, her blinks slow. “He’ll come.”

“Okay, honey.” Tony doesn’t correct her, even though he knows she’s wrong. May died fifteen years ago. They were there when she took her last breath, not as frail as Pepper is now, but just as weak, so pale she blended in with the walls of the hospital. She died, and he never came, so Tony wonders why Pepper’s so sure he’ll come now.

Visiting hours come and go, and he goes over to Morgan’s place to spend the night with some family.

“Maybe she’s right and he’ll come, this time. At least to say goodbye.” Morgan bustles about the kitchen, putting away the last of the plates the kids left behind as quietly as she can so she doesn’t wake anyone. Tony glances at the clock. 2:46am. 

“I doubt it.”

“Dad,” Morgan sighs, the final plate in the dishwasher. She takes a towel and wipes down the counter, then grabs a seat next to him couch where Tony’s drinking sparkling apple juice from a wine glass.

“Twenty-two years, Morgan, and not a word from him.”

There’s some silence with Morgan fidgeting as if she’s contemplating something, then she sighs again. “He writes to me, you know.”

Tony sits up straighter and turns, abruptly. “What?”

“He writes. He hasn’t for a couple years now. But I used to get letters.”

“And you never thought to tell me?”

“They didn’t say anything important.”

“Maybe they contained traces of where he was!”

“Dad.” Morgan looks at him. “I didn’t want to find him if he didn’t want to be found.”

Tony crumples, leaning back once again, and chugs the rest of his juice before setting the glass down.

Weakly, he says, “I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to be found.”

-

The day Peter turns 30 is the last time Tony sees him. They all head over to Peter’s apartment, Morgan every bit a teenager, grumbling about her homework, but still excited enough to see Peter that her grumbling doesn’t last long. She even baked a batch of cupcakes, poorly frosted and probably way too sweet, but she holds them in front of her with pride.

The moment Peter opens the door, his face lights up, and then lights up even more when he sees the cupcakes. “For me, Morgy?” he says, all grins and happiness (how much of that happiness was fake? Tony wonders now). “You shouldn’t have.” 

It’s just a family get together. May, Happy, Pepper, Rhodey, Morgan, Tony, and Peter. 

Rhodey pats Peter on the shoulder, and they share a joke, and the evening passes quickly. A couple slices of cake too many. A mediocre pasta dish. A board game and bad TV. And then everyone’s off to bed except for Tony and Peter.

2am and the two of them are eating leftover cupcakes that Morgan baked and drinking (wine for Peter and water for Tony) when Tony says,

“Anyone special yet?” He doesn’t ask out of curiosity. He only asks for something to say

Peter snorts, rolling his eyes. He sounds unusually caustic when he says, “No, Tony.”

He doesn’t know if he’s imagining the sudden bite to Peter’s words, but he chooses to let it go either way and chalks it up to the alcohol. It’s not that Tony particularly cares if Peter ever ends up in a long-term relationship. But he just seems so lonely lately, so maybe a friend or companion won’t hurt.

“I’m just worried you’re not getting enough social interaction. You seem lonely, Pete. You should come by to see us more.”

“Please. I see you all the time.”

Tony frowns. “You really don’t.”

Peter hums but says nothing else, looking down at his drink with a look Tony can’t decipher. Really, it’s strange how young Peter looks, even now. No facial hair, no wrinkles except for his eye crinkles when he smiles. His skin is still smooth, his hair as thick and curly as ever. His eyes are still big on his face, limbs still spry. Thirty isn’t that old, but somehow Peter looks almost as young as the day they first met, but maybe that’s just Tony being sappy. They do say that parents can never see their kids as anything but kids.

“Well,” Tony says to break up the funk they’ve fallen into. “Now that you’re thirty, maybe we can do old people stuff together.”

Peter looks up and grins, but Tony swears there’s something else. His grin doesn’t look quite right. It looks like the forced grins Tony used to get after Beck. 

Tony tilts his head and cups Peter’s face, his eyebrows furrowed with a silent question, but Peter only shakes his head, that sad grin still plastered on.

“Of course,” is all Peter says. “Old people stuff.”

“Yeah. We gotta have some fun, Pete. Before I bite the dust.”

There’s a shift in Peter’s expression immediately after Tony speaks, and he says, almost too quickly, “You’re not that old yet, Tony.” But then Peter’s eyes go vacant, head going somewhere Tony can’t follow. “You barely look any different from ten years ago.” It’s probably supposed to be a joke, but Peter’s heart’s not in it, and Tony doesn’t know what’s wrong.

The wrongness continues over to the next day up until it’s time for everyone to leave.

“Bye, Pete,” Morgan says, focused on her phone, and Peter grins.

“Bye, Morgy.”

Morgan looks up, then quickly gives Peter half a hug. “See you soon.”

“Of course.”

Tony lingers longer at the door once the others have started walking down the hall to the elevators, and Peter gives him one last hug, his face pressed to Tony’s shoulder. He holds onto Tony tightly, like he doesn’t quite want to let go, and that scares Tony. For a second, Tony swears he can feel a wet patch grow on his shoulder. 

But then Peter pulls away, and his eyes are dry. 

“Love you,” Tony says softly, hiding his anxiety (although in retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have). Then, because he knows Peter’s not okay, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Love you too,” is all Peter whispers before he closes the door.

(Tony should’ve pushed. Should’ve asked more questions. Shouldn’t have left Peter alone.)

The next day, Peter disappears.

-

A couple days pass, and Pepper gets worse, as dreaded. Just because it’s expected though doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Tony feels like there’s a hammer going at his ribs, and soon they’ll all cave in and crush his heart.

He walks into the hospital room, hoping that Pepper hasn’t been lonely, and he pauses.

There’s a bouquet of flowers by Pepper’s bed already, fresh and bright, and as Pepper turns her head as much as she can to see Tony, she’s smiling.

“He came, Tony,” she rasps, tears pooling in her eyes. “He was here.”

Tony can only stare. The bouquet of flowers has a little key chain wrapped around it, and when Tony manages to take a step closer, he sees that it’s the keychain of a spider.

“Oh god.”

“Tony,” Pepper says. She’s looking at him imploringly. “He’s just left. Not even two minutes ago. Tony.”

And Tony knows what she’s asking of her, but to leave her to chase after a ghost, how could Tony do that.

“Find him.”

“I would rather stay here with you.”

“I’ll be here later.” She half laughs and half sobs silently, her body shuddering weakly, but her smile is strong even when teary. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Find him.”

She begins to cry then, and suddenly Tony’s crying too because he doesn’t want to believe.

“If I do, I might smack him.”

“Don’t be hard on him. Please.”

“How can you say that, Pep?”

“Please, Tony. You’ll understand when you see.”

Tony’s doesn’t often see Pepper as gentle. She’s always been independent, competent, demanding, and beautiful. But now is one of her gentle moments. The moments reserved for her family, and Tony knows that this is how he can bring both her and himself some peace.

“If I don’t find him in an hour, I’m coming back.”

“I’ll be waiting right here.”

Tony bends down and kisses her cheek, then her forehead, He runs a gentle hand through her white hair.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t want to leave her here, alone in the hospital, but he can’t deny that he wants to know the truth, even if to settle his own pain.

“I love you too.”

He kisses her again, just to delay a little longer, and only when his hand starts jittering a minute later does he leave her bedside, not ready to believe, but somehow believing. 

He exits the front doors, and for just a second, he stands outside the entrance, head swinging left to right, wondering where to go before taking off in a random direction.

He brushes past people on the street, looking for anyone brown-haired and middle-aged, his heart pounding as he slips between people.

It’s only been a couple minutes. How far can someone walk in a couple minutes? The doubt he feels builds until it’s thrumming on the edges of panic, and he feels like he’s missed his chance. That maybe he was too slow. Left the hospital just a second too late.

“Fuck,” he hisses when a traffic light turns yellow, his speed walk turning into a run to bring him across the road, a left-turning car honking at him.

It’s then that he sees a head of curls walking away from him a hundred meters down the street, and his breath catches.

For a second, he stumbles, but when he regains his footing he’s running faster than he’s ever had, fifty meters away, then ten, and then his hand reaches a shoulder, clasping down, and the person turns around fast as a whip, and,

“Peter?” Tony breathes, eyes wide. But it can’t be. Because this isn’t a middle-aged man. This is a young adult. 20 at most.

But it’s Peter.

The same large, brown eyes. The same freckles. The same fluffy, curly hair. 

The boy looks up at Tony, and Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen more fear in a person. “Sorry,” Peter says, startled, voice trembling, hitching, breaking. “you’ve got the wrong person.” 

He pulls out of Tony’s grip with the full intention of darting away, and Tony swears, reaching out and grabbing him again.

“Jesus Christ, Pete! _Please._ ”

He manages to get a hold of Peter’s wrist, and Peter almost deflates, his hand going limp in Tony’s grip.

He takes Peter, dragging him into the closest alley without resistance, and then it’s just the two of them, Tony’s hand shaking from where he’s holding onto Peter, and he can feel the frantic thumping of Peter’s pulse.

“Please let me go,” Peter says, and he looks terrified. He’s wearing a sweater that’s too big on him, and he gently tries to move Tony’s hand off him, but Tony can’t let go.

“Oh god, Pete.” He’s staring at Peter in reverence because this is _his kid._ Who should be in his fifties but isn’t. And it should be impossible except, isn’t Tony the same?

“I need you to let me go.”

“Pete.” Tony’s voice cracks. _“Please.”_

A tear slips down Peter’s cheeks, and he quickly brushes it away. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, his eyes looking everywhere else, and then his shoulders slump and he settles for a, “Jesus, Tony.” He finally looks at Tony’s face, eyes flitting, and then breathes deeply. “You look the same.”

“So do you.”

At that, Peter ducks his head and laughs, his shoulders trembling.

“Please let go, Tony. Please.”

Anger flares, sudden, and Tony’s grip tightens. “I won’t do that. Twenty-two years, Pete.” Peter looks up, eyes wide, and Tony stares at him, trying to sort through what he’s feeling. “Why’d you run?”

“You don’t understand.” Peter sounds broken, and it sucks all the anger right out of Tony. Not just the anger he has now, but the one that’s been living in him for two decades. Somehow, in Peter’s broken, hurt presence, the need to _comfort_ overrides any remnant of hurt and rage.

“Explain to me, then,” he says, trying to keep his voice soft, running his fingers along the back of Peter’s hand. Peter’s still an inch shorter than Tony, and still thin in a way that screams young adult. He has bags under his eyes, and he looks so tired.

But he still starts to talk even though it sounds like it’s hurting him to do so. “I didn’t mean to stay away this long, I _swear.”_ Peter’s free hand comes up to grip Tony’s shirt. “You have to believe me. I just needed to figure out what was going on with me. Just a couple years. But then,” his breath hitches, “but then seven years passed, and _May,”_ he chokes, and Tony brings him in, letting him rest his head against his shoulder as Peter’s body shakes with sobs.

“Shhh,” he says into Peter’s hair, his heart aching.

Peter breathes deeply, each inhale catching, each exhale wobbly. “But then she _died,_ and I realized I was never going to figure out why I wasn’t aging, and I couldn’t stick around and watch you guys die. I _couldn’t._ Please, Tony, you have to understand I wouldn’t have left. I wouldn’t have left if I didn’t know it would hurt so much more to stay. Please, _Please,_ believe me. _”_

His face is still buried into Tony’s shirt, each word more heartbreaking than the next, and Tony realizes that Peter must have been so, so lonely and isolated. Tony wants to say, _we could’ve figured it out together._ But he doesn’t because he knows they wouldn’t have. No one can figure out immortality. Right now Peter doesn’t need Tony’s questions. He just needs to know that Tony loves him still.

It’s up to Tony to extend some kind of branch so that Peter won’t take off after this. He needs Peter to know that he can have something permanent, so he collects himself and says, “I look the same too, Pete.”

Peter makes a noise but doesn’t look up, and Tony gently kisses his head.

“Look at me, Pete.”

To his surprise, Peter does.

“I haven’t aged either,” Tony says. Or at least that’s his hypothesis, but saying it aloud makes it feel all the more real, and all the more dooming.

He doesn’t know how he expects Peter to react, but it’s definitely not the welling of tears as Peter takes in his face, eyes tracing Tony’s still relatively dark hair (not white like Pepper’s. Only a little grey, like it’s been for decades), tracing his wrinkles (not anymore present than when Peter left), his eyes. There’s a sort of horror in Peter’s gaze. Not the relief Tony maybe wanted.

“How did this happen?” Peter’s eyes are wide and wet, his breathing getting progressively faster. “Oh god.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s _not._ ” Peter’s hands are clawing at Tony’s clothes again, gripping them. “You were supposed to grow old with your family. This wasn’t supposed to happen. How did this happen?”

All Tony can do is shrug, trying his best to stay calm for Peter. “I don’t know. Maybe it was--”

“The stones,” Peter cuts in, gasping.

“Yeah.” Tony swallows. “The infinity stones.”

Peter seems lost again, and Tony gently pulls away, taking another good look at Peter’s face.

“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing if we’re in this together.”

That, at least, erases some of the devastation off Peter’s face.

“Come back and live with me,” Tony tries. “Please. It might work out.”

Tony remembers the last time he saw Peter, and how he explicitly thought Peter still looked too young. Now, that feeling is reflected tenfold. 

“Please,” he repeats, cupping Peter’s face, tracing his smooth chin. No facial hair. No wrinkles. He can see the bits of Peter’s defense chip away, the need for physical contact practically screaming through the stiffness of his body. “Please.”

Peter looks at Tony like how he did when he was fifteen and thought Tony could fix everything. “Okay,” Peter blinks, eyes swollen. “Okay. I’ll come live with you.”

-

They go back to the hospital together, walking quietly up to Pepper’s room.

Pepper lies in bed, asleep, and to Tony’s surprise, Morgan is there, her face buried in a book. The only sounds in the room are white noise and the flipping of pages.

For just a second, Peter halts at the doorway, but then he steps forward. “Morgy,” Peter breathes, and Morgan looks up, her eyes slowly widening in disbelief as she takes in the scene in front of her.

Peter walks closer, and Morgan stands up, setting her book on her seat. She seems to not know how to react.

“Pete,” she says, blinking rapidly. “I, I don’t understand.” She looks at Tony, questioning, and Tony smiles.

“I found him,” is all he says, and that’s all she needs before she’s throwing herself into Peter’s arms like she’s twelve again, and Peter catches her. Not as easily as before, maybe, because they’re nearly the same height, but he remains steady, letting Morgan melt into his arms.

“Oh my god,” she says, over and over. “You’re here.” She says it like she’s scared to believe it, but then she’s pulling away just enough to see Peter’s face, and she starts tearing up.

“Pete,” she says, choked, and Peter only smiles that sad smile of his.

“I know, Morgy. I’m sorry for leaving.”

She shakes her head, her voice clogged. “No, no.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay now.” Then she’s back in his arms, letting Peter’s head fall onto her shoulder, and Peter lets out a shuddering breath.

“Okay,” he says. “Thank you for forgiving me.”

Morgan huffs out a short, sad laugh, her eyes catching Tony’s, and Tony thinks his heart is breaking and healing on repeat.

He doesn’t even know how long it’ll take for this to truly sink it. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever sink in at all, but to see his two kids hug, after all this time, he thinks something fractured inside him is coming together.

“You’re all grown up,” Peter chokes out after some time, finally breaking their embrace, and Morgan laughs for real this time.

“And you’re still the same.”

This sobers Peter, and he falls back, shrugging. “Somehow, yeah.” He stiples his fingers, plays with the sleeves of his sweater, scratches at his face. Anything to keep fidgeting, at least until Tony grabs his hand when Peter starts picking at his own skin.

“Where did you stay?” Tony asks. “How come I could never find you?”

Peter shrugs again, avoiding eye contact. “Here and there. Spent some time up in Canada with Wade, then came back down when I missed home.”

“ _Wade?”_

“We cried about our immortality together. It was very cathartic.”

Tony has a lot he wants to say to that, but he swallows it all down because Peter’s expression is amiss, as if he’s thinking a lot and not voicing any of it.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan says before Tony can think of anything comforting. “You must have been so lonely.”

Peter looks at her then, and his melancholy seems to have fused with him. Every grin, every smile, every crinkle of his eye--it’s still there. He doesn’t look as carefree as he used to, and maybe that’s the true mark of his age. “You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I worry. You’re my brother.”

“I should’ve been a bigger part of your life. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” she says. Her eyes are soft, and she’s aged gracefully, but she’s still aged, and Tony can see that Peter notices this. Can see the pain in Peter’s expression and he fully takes her in.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you grow up,” Peter says, blinking too much as if he can catch his tears like that.

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Morgan’s maturity must also hurt. She’s so different from her teenage self, now that Tony thinks about it. He’s realizing how strange this must be for not only him, but Peter too.

The last time Peter saw Morgan, she was in the prime of her teenage years. She’s double Peter’s physical age now, and it must be overwhelming.

“Are you going to stay?” Morgan asks, still with the same gentleness, and Peter nods.

“Yes. I think I missed having a family.” Then he sits down next to Pepper, taking her hand in his, eyes haunted.

They spend the rest of the afternoon by Peppers bedside, watching her breathe and wondering when it’ll stop.

-

There’s a lot of healing to do after Pepper dies. She goes quietly in the middle of the night, and Tony realizes, to his horror, that he doesn’t know what to do.

But then Peter is there, and Morgan moves in with them for a couple of months, bringing the kids, and they struggle through it together.

The Funeral comes and goes, and Tony knows that she’s lived a full life, but something in him wants to be lying in a casket next to her, because that’s how he always wanted to go.

And he realizes, with a sudden heartbreaking clarity, that this must have been what Peter felt for years and years and years, and it must have been why he ran. To see your loved ones die and know you could never join--it’s only now that the true horror of immortality hits him.

It’s only then that he realizes that Peter must’ve thought he would be grieving by himself for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry you’ve been alone for so long,” Tony tells Peter a week after the funeral, both of them weary and hurt, and Peter curls up in the blanket he brought onto the couch.

“It’s better now, being here. Sometimes I wake up and forget I have things to look forward to, but then you’ll be in the kitchen having coffee and things are okay again.”

Peter says it candidly, but there’s a deep, saturated pain there that can only slowly be woven out. There’s too much trauma to be healed in a couple weeks, months, years. Tony realizes that they may be in over their heads.

“Maybe we should get someone to talk to. Immortals Anonymous.”

“Hah,” Peter says dryly, and Tony shakes his head.

“I’m serious. Just consider it. A therapist, maybe. Someone who you can trust.”

Peter looks at Tony carefully, considering, then shrugs, curling further into his blanket until his head disappears, and all that’s left visible is a couple curls.

“I’ll consider it if you consider it.”

“Deal.”

-

Grief comes in waves, and it gets worse once Morgan resumes her regular life away from Tony. He wakes up, and he can’t get out of bed, but then Peter is trudging into his room with coffee and a toasted bagel, and he sets it on Tony’s bed.

“Eat,” he says.

“Not hungry.”

Peter sighs, then sits down next to Tony. “Please eat. You don’t have to get out of bed, but you should eat.”

Then Peter leaves his room, and Tony stares at the bagel, and thinks that that’s where Pepper used to sleep. 

He flings the food and coffee across the room, and glass shatters as a dark stain spreads over the floor. Peter comes in immediately after the sound, taking in the sight, and maybe Tony expects anger, but Peter’s never done the expected.

He simply clears away the mess, then kisses Tony on the head. Not even ten minutes later and he comes back with another bagel and a paper cup with water.

He sets it on the bedside table and leaves, and his maturity is astounding. It’s this sudden evidence of Peter’s true age that drags Tony out of bed. He takes his food to the kitchen and eats it on the counter, and when Peter sees him, he smiles.

Peter has his bad days too. Sometimes he walks around like a ghost, like he’s not used to not being alone. There will be moments when he stares into space for hours at a time, startled when he comes to, and Tony doesn’t know how to help.

All he can do is be there and slowly rub Peter’s shoulder until he comes back.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he repeats, over and over, and Peter will look at him with a familiar desperation, the one Tony felt in his hug that day, before Peter disappeared, and Tony will hold him tightly. Sometimes he rocks him back and forth, and sometimes they just sit still with Peter basking in the contact.

Peter brushes his hand against Tony whenever he can, like he’s assuring himself that Tony’s there and real. He’s tactile, and Tony indulges him, but it’s not as if he minds. 

Months pass like this, and Peter goes to therapy. And then Tony goes to therapy because he promised.

“We should move somewhere quieter,” Peter brings up one day after dissociating for long enough that Tony panicked and called Peter’s therapist, only for Peter to finally pull himself out. “Maybe the lake house?”

“Too many ghosts,” Tony says quietly, letting Peter curl up against him.

“Yeah.”

“But maybe it’ll be good to get away from the city for a while.”

Peter nods, his head resting on Tony’s chest, fingers drumming on his thigh to the beat of Tony’s heart. It’s in this evidence of life that Peter finds comfort, Tony has discovered over time. Sometimes, when Peter can’t sleep, he can listen to Tony’s heartbeat and drift off.

And when Tony wakes from nightmares of Morgan’s inevitable death that he’ll have to suffer through far too soon (twenty, thirty, forty years. Who knows how much time they have left together), Peter’s there, a constant presence. Something stable.

It’s Peter’s want for quietness that leads Tony to book a spontaneous trip to Japan, and Peter’s excitement makes it immediately worth it.

They go in the spring when the cherry blossoms are blooming, petals drifting through the air, and the shadows that follow the both of them almost seem to fade a little.

They eat a lot of sweets. Sticky rice balls covered in sweet soy sauce. Mochi. Crepes. And to Peter’s delight, a giant, rainbow cotton candy. It’s sweet and terrible, and Peter devours it like he’s five. 

They spend a month in Tokyo, exploring every inch until they get bored, then they travel to Kyoto to the shrines and temples, and every time they pray, he knows what Peter prays for from the look on his face.

The twisted, haunted look.

They go to Nara and feed the deer, and one gets violent and headbutts Peter to the ground, which earns a loud, brilliant laugh. One that leaves Tony reeling and laughing along, and he wonders if maybe they’ll be okay.

They spend maybe too long in Japan. Months in the cities, then years in the countryside.

The countryside is quiet, and time passes like it’s drifting. Akita is full of kind, wonderful people that don’t care that their Japanese is cruddy. Peter’s is better than Tony’s because he put in the effort to learn. But Tony’s picked up enough to get by.

The stay with an elderly Japanese couple and learn how to tend to the land, and all the labour intensive work that goes into it.

It’s a year in though when Tony notices that Peter’s been having more quiet spells. The countryside leaves Peter adrift because it’s too quiet, and Tony knows not to leave Peter with his thoughts.

“Is he okay?” the couple they stay with ask more than once, and all Tony can do is reassure them that they’re both okay. That they’ve been through some things but they’re healing.

But Peter’s drifting becomes concerning, even with regular phone calls with his therapist, so after two years, they head back to New York.

It’s almost a relief to be back in the city, and Peter seems more grounded immediately. Morgan picks them up from the airport and drives them back to Tony’s place that he shares with Peter. _Their_ place.

“Welcome home,” she says.

The night they get back, jetlagged and a little delirious, they drink hot chocolate on the couch and, like usual, Tony ends up with Peter curled against him, listening to his heartbeat.

One day, it’ll truly just be the two of them.

“I’m scared,” Peter whispers. “But I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Tony gets it. He’s scared too. But he places his finger under Peter’s thumb and feels the steady thumps, and he knows Peter can hear Tony’s heart beating just as steadily. His arms wrap around Peter, holding him close, and he rests his chin on the top of Peter’s head.

One day it’ll be just them, but at least they won’t be alone.


End file.
